


We All Got Shitty Parents

by Still_beating_heart



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 11x06, Episode Related, M/M, canon shit applies, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29474286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_beating_heart/pseuds/Still_beating_heart
Summary: "What you said earlier," Ian leans back on the bed, feeling every bit as heavy at the end of the day as he normally does, "about pissing on him and watching it dry, you know, using his mouth as an ashtray. Is that stuff that he did to you?"
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 20
Kudos: 187





	We All Got Shitty Parents

**Author's Note:**

> Not watching S11, but saw some clips. Started thinking. It's never good when I start thinking.
> 
> As per usual unbeta'd. I will stick with my mistakes.

"What you said earlier," Ian leans back on the bed, feeling every bit as heavy at the end of the day as he normally does, "about pissing on him and watching it dry, you know, using his mouth as an ashtray. Is that stuff that he did to you?"

Mickey watches him wearily from where he's tugging off his shirt. Shrugging a response that Ian can easily interpret as a solid yes that Mickey won't speak or even really own up to. His stomach sinks when his mind runs off with the image of a young Mickey having Terry stand over him and piss on him. Or flick ash into his mouth, put out a smoke on his tongue.

"Whatever man, we all got shitty parents 'round here."

"Yeah. We do. I just," he trails off. Where to start? Where to finish? "Now that we're alone, I just thought you might wanna talk about it?" 

His eyes narrow, his mouth opens to no doubt tell Ian to fuck off with that soft shit, he ain't a psychologist and Mickey doesn't need that bullshit anyway. 

"Or not. Just," he holds his eye contact even if Mickey certainly doesn't want to, "you can't quantify a shitty childhood, but I can understand having one, and if you want to talk I'm here. Here, without turning it into a competition. If you..."

"I don't," he finishes tugging off his clothes and makes his way over, "I'd rather fuck."

"I know," Ian reaches out, runs a hand over his cheek, lets him lean in to press lips to lips. When Mickey's hands drag up his sides, then back down, reaching for the waistband of his boxers is when Ian links their fingers together to stop his progress, breaking the slow kiss that was bound to become hungry and untamed soon enough, "it sometimes helps, ya know, to talk."

Mickey rolls his eyes, his cheeks get sucked into his teeth, "and sometimes it helps to fuck."

"Well that goes without saying," nudging his forehead against his husband's, "it always helps to fuck."

"Then let's do that. Quit chattin' like a bitch, and get on me," he's untangling their fingers and working back towards Ian's waist when he just stops. And leans his face into Ian's neck. Ian can practically hear the gears turning in that thick skull.

He runs his hands up Mickey's bare back, waiting for him to talk or breathe or get up and start pacing. Hooking his chin over his shoulder, making it clear he's just sitting here. With a lap full of Milkovich and he's content to do that while Mickey has a silent conversation in his head if that's what he wants. But he kind of wants him to stay here, knowing if he gets up and paces it'll just lead to more energy getting pushed around in his body, which'll lead to more anger rising, then eye-rubbing, and nose-nudging and smoking, and eventually getting out the door with a gun to head next door. 

"Thought by now I'd stop giving a fuck," he mumbles, his warm breath traveling across Ian's neck, "ya know, like the shit he's always callin' me it'd stop being in my head."

Ian hums, letting him know he's listening. And he's not going to cut in on him. 

"And I guess I thought I wouldn't still want to shoot him. Only reason I didn't, is 'cause you were there. And kinda want him to suffer like that. But he's still my dad, right? My only fuckin' parent. And he wasn't always that fuckin' bad. Before Mom took of," he trails off, but his body is staying lax and that's a damn good sign. Ian lets him wander around in his mind with his memories, someday he'll get him talking about his mom, but today he's not going to push anything, he's not going to steer the conversation, "I'm just fuckin' tired. I'm tired of hating him. Hating him while still wanting to make him notice me, or make him proud or whatever stupid fuckin' nature bullshit is embedded in kids when it comes to pleasing their parents no matter how fuckin' shitty their parents are. And you know, that shit with Frank? The time he hurt you," now a spike of anger rides up his muscles, tensing his back and shoulders. Ian is sure his fists are clenched where they're buried in the pillow behind him, "I wasn't fuckin' there man. If I'd been there, he'd never have got a fuckin' chance to hit you, or try to profit off your mania. I'd've..."

"Ended up in prison after trying to kill him like you did Sammi," now Ian interrupts. 

Mickey snorts indignantly and Ian forces himself not to squirm when it tickles across his neck.

"You can't protect other people from their shitty parents."

Another snort. This time it sounds more like someone punched him in the gut. And that one name, that one name that means so much more than either of them can speak, that one name that brings up more memories than either of them can bear; it's right there on the tip of his tongue. But he doesn't dare speak it. Maybe he's a lonely rich kid now, but he's still better off there than here. 

Ian turns his head to bury his face in the side of Mickey's neck, taking a deep breath of him now to override _that day_. 

"I think it's okay to hate him. Or it's okay to not hate him. It's always going to be complicated. Even after he dies. Just do me a favor?" now he pulls away, taking Mickey's chin in his hand to aim his gaze, "next time you want to kill him, just don't," he smiles at him when he rolls his eyes, "even if I'm not there, just don't kill him. I want you here," pressing a kiss to his lips quickly, hand through is hair while he watches his face, "got it?"

"Fuckin' got it Gallagher."

"Besides, I need you here to protect me from my shitty dad, alright?"

"You certainly fuckin' do," he agrees with a smirk.

He watches him without moving for long enough that Mickey's expression falls soft, his body relaxes again and Ian thinks that of all the things they do in this bed, these are his favorite moments. When nothing at all is happening, but so much is happening. He wonders sometimes how fucking hard it would be to have a relationship with someone else, even friendships, there would just come a point where the words he can't place on some experiences would have to be placed on those experiences with someone who wasn't there. And with Mickey, it's so damn easy to not have to talk. To just sit here and know they're both thinking about the same things. They both experienced the same things, they were so much a part of each other's lives for the worst things, and they've managed to love each other anyway. Or in spite of. Or because of. 

The past is a damn hell. The past is the reason they're here, together, so he's got a lot of reasons to be grateful to that hell. He watches his thumbs travel over Mickey's cheeks, and the way Mickey responds to it with such tenderness in his eyes. He feels a smile rise on his lips, drawing Mickey in with his hands to guide him to a kiss. A kiss that he hopes will speak the rest of the words that the can't find the voice for.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/stillbeatingheart)
> 
> And kudos. Thanks :)


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